


i'll teach you how to love me

by skitty_titty



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Hunter!Prompto Argentum, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, MT!Prompto, POV Prompto Argentum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-07 11:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16407506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skitty_titty/pseuds/skitty_titty
Summary: maybe it's a last-ditch attempt to save the world. it's not Her original playground, or even the second or third. it's the twenty-fifth, and She won't give up. Her love for humanity burns strong. She knows the fate of their star depends on the four boys - the children ever so carefully chosen to play the roles of the saviour - so She decides to change them.the foreign boy. if She changes his path slightly, would they still meet? would the trio still evolve into a quartet, or would the prince and his retainers be left in the fight in their lonesome? She laughs; of course, the crystal would never allow them to be kept apart, no matter what She tried.or: the verse where prompto is raised as a hunter, rather than an insomnian citizen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> warnings:   
>  -descriptions of insomnia's fall  
> -animal harm (there's a garula hunt)

a sword has two edges and every story has two tellings. every coin has two sides but these ones are mutually exclusive. it’s heads or tails. it’s this or that. 

there’s sometimes a middle path. for example, a recollection of a dinner party; each person’s conversations and memories of the event differ from the next’s. your experience is not universal, but similar enough to fit within that midline of enjoyment others felt as well.  

prompto is a hunter. it’s what he was born to do. i suppose that this could be one way of telling his story. born in niflheim and raised as a killing machine, his rescue at age seven is nothing short of a miracle. even after being freed of the facility, he still experiences irreversible effects of his time there - torturous nightmares, a need for touch, but a repulsion when it happens, feeling best when there’s a gun in his hands and dead eyes stare back at him, or the purple-black forms of slain monsters start melting into the ground. 

he’s turned himself around. instead of being part of insomnia’s downfall, he protects the citizens outside of it. times are hard and growing harder. more and more daemons haunt the ever-increasing hours of night. it’s less a choice and more a calling. prompto doesn’t mind it as much as he probably should but, then again, anything is better than back there. 

sometimes, he thinks it’s a hard life, one that nobody should have to live, but it’s better him than someone else because at least this was always written in his destiny.

he rises with the sun, if not earlier, but the recent growth in nighttime hours and later dawns prompts him to set an alarm for four AM and makes his own daybreak. painting another inch of canvas every day seems repetitive, but it’s calming, keeps him grounded. almost makes him fall for the lie that he is human, through and through.

prompto starts work at six AM. with the first two hours of the day being dedicated to training, artistic impulses, and readying himself for the fights to come, he sets out to the hunter’s secondary HQ, in hammerhead, driving some old, abandoned car he found by a roadside. he’d fixed it up with relative ease, and continued on his way. 

when he arrives, he checks the updated list of open hunts - they’re all over the place. there’s even a few from old lestallum, which usually get left to the western hunters. prompto wonders how low their numbers must be running, if they’ve been requested for jobs so far away.

he takes on a few, and makes a quick note of the places that seem to be struggling most. he’ll drive over there as soon as he has the time. for now, though, he sticks with the immediate area: there’s a small group of flan that are harassing a particularly important farm, and some voretooth that seem set on hunting down the last of the chocobo. prompto always did have a soft spot for the defenceless things. 

before he can set off, he sees cor reading through a paper, frown ever present on his face. the deep set lines that were deep set in his forehead and around his mouth seem to stretch for miles, and the stern look remains unwavering. prompto isn’t scared of him anymore, though, and walks up without hesitation.

“what’s up?” prompto asks, simple. cor just hands him the newspaper. the title reads ‘Niflheim Attack On Insomnia’, and the first thing prompto sees is the picture, one of the city up in flames, vibrant colours popping from the page, contrasting to the stark black, grey, and white of the body. of course, this story is the one that takes up most of the paper. nearly all of it is speculation of what happened, but the included statistics are still harsh. 

plenty of insomnian citizens died. plenty more are injured, or are facing death. there’s not enough rooms in hospitals. however, it’s said that the outer districts were less affected than areas around the citadel. niflheim had a clear aim, and they did not miss. 

prompto feels a sick sort of dread. he’s always hated his origin, but times like this make him feel like a monster.

“it wasn’t you.” cor says. he could always read prompto like a book.

“i know.” he replies. “but it could have been.”

both are silent at that, only the soft sound of wind against leaves in the background. it’s a quiet day, at the moment. everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion, now that prompto thinks about it. everything is so slurred.

cor changes the subject. “you off on more hunts?”

“signed up for a few. might be out of town for a few weeks. i plan to head down to the south for a bit, after these ones are finished. sounds like they’re struggling.” his sentences are clipped. everything doesn’t feel quite right. cor can tell, but he can never say anything. no one is ever alright around here anymore, and it’s not something he can fix until everything is over. it never will be over.

“stay safe.”

“always do, dad.” he’s serious when he calls him dad. once upon a time, it may have been a joke, but cor did rescue him and had been filling the role of guardian long before prompto even realised. cor is his only perspective of how parents behave. he thinks that their relationship is normal, even if he knows it really isn’t. father-son bonding time typically involves fishing, football, or some other awkward sport, because fathers were taught to be distant and sons were raised on mother’s love; usually, bonding time doesn’t include saving your son from the people trying to kill your country, raising him whilst also saving lives, and then releasing him into the world to continue your job. 

still. cor smiles when prompto says it, and prompto feels a little lighter. when he climbs into his car, he selects a good CD before setting off. he never really bothers with the music, until the silence becomes too much.

the flan are a nighttime hunt - and yes, prompto is one of the few that drive both day and night - but the voretooth stay awake constantly, always vigilant. he hates the things, and their sharp fangs that narrowly miss. they always tend to get at least a bite or two in before he finishes the job, and he’s not found anyway to avoid having to use a potion just yet. he hates pack animals. 

the pack go down, obviously with a fight, but not a very strong one. he wonders if they were hungry, and not at their full potential because that didn’t seem right. he uses a potion on himself anyway, mainly as kindness to his body because he could have continued on, unhindered, but he thinks of cor’s gentle wish to ‘take care’ and wastes it anyway.

there are a few faint chocobo cries, and then one peers through the bushes with wide eyes. only now does prompto notice an egg on the ground, its white shell exposed for all to see. he steps back, and the chocobo steps forward. he turns and leaves, because his job is done, but no one has to know if he sneaks back around to take a few pictures.

 

* * *

 

he drives to the farmer’s house next. the journey is about an hour, but he did stop a few times for pictures, or to add a note to his map. tipsters were good with information, but no one could get all of it. 

he arrives way before nightfall, but uses the time to speak with the farmer and find out as much as he can about what he’s up against. flan aren’t the toughest of enemies, but he likes to know where they’re coming from and an estimate of how many there’d be. 

the farmer is helpful and then some. she offers him a nice drink, one that soothes his throat on the hot day that it is, and even lets him shower. the water is nice and strong, too, as if he’s in some city hotel’s bathroom and he enjoys feeling clean for the first time in far too long. 

he borrows some clothes, even if he tries to decline. the woman says that they were her ex-girlfriend’s and that he could even keep some, if he wished, but prompto still refuses. he washes his clothes while he wears the spares, and continues to offer any help he can around. 

she is called poppy, and prompto likes her a lot. 

over dinner - that was cooked to perfection, prompto may add - they talk about nothing important, but still, it’s nice all the same. prompto hasn’t felt this calm in so long. he takes another sip of his drink, another bite of food, all the way until he’s stuffed, and finally, the fight begins. 

it starts when there’s a strange sound outside, and a few concerned cries of animals. prompto stands, and they smile at each other, in a worried sort of way.

“be careful,” she says. 

prompto laughs. perhaps it could be a sigh. “i always am.”

 

* * *

 

he comes back in twenty minutes later. there’s a weird kind of goo across his borrowed shirt, and he smells terrible. he sits again, drinks his water and grabs a refill, and poppy thanks him. she says he can stay the night, if he wants, but his original clothes are dry, so he sees no reason to overstay his welcome.

he thanks her for the hospitality, and she thanks him for taking care of her problem. they exchange phone numbers and promise to call each other if they need something. it is unlikely that either of them ever will.

he nods his head, and she smiles. then, they’re gone.

prompto heads back to his car. his outfit is clean, but there’s already dirt in his nails. there’s a scratch across his arm from a bad dodge, but, otherwise, he is fine. there is no music in the car as he sets off. only watchful eyes staring at the road. he knows where to go, now, like the back of his hand; he’s driven these roads plenty of times, an endless routine, and he arrives before he even realised how much time had passed. everything seems like a blur.

the drive takes him to around two AM, so he parks his car in the settlement, climbs in the backseats, and uses his jacket as a pillow. in three hours, he will wake up shivering, and take that as his cue to rise. he overslept again, he chides. he supposes an hour of his personal activity isn’t much too lose, and goes for a run. as a punishment to himself, he runs with his backpack filled to the brim and tackles a few hills. he hates himself while he does it, but he feels better after, so he considers it a success.

wiz, the owner of the chocobo post, greets him enthusiastically. he comments on how the youth of today were never up early anymore, preferring to sleep in, and prompto is almost envious. almost, if he lets himself. instead, he smiles and laughs. he is twenty, and he can play young and carefree easily. it’s what he’s trained to do. 

he talks with wiz about the chocobos, until the conversation turns serious. they haven’t been able to rent any out for a while, due to a behemoth rampaging in the forest, which means they’ve lost a big portion of their profits. people still pay to feed and pet and play with them, but renting them out was the biggest moneymaker. no one really wants to make a trip just to pet a bird anymore, with how dangerous the world is becoming

he says he will see what he can do, and wiz is both thankful and worried.

“you won’t take it on alone, will y’?” he asks. his accent is soft, and prompto knows that he could fall asleep to it, if given the chance.

“of course not.” prompto says. “even i’m not that reckless,” he says it with a grin. wiz laughs, along with giving another reminder to watch out. he accepts this with a nod, and then he’s off again.

he thinks he will wait a bit before he defeats the behemoth. he needs more funds for curatives, which means more hunts. he’ll visit some other outposts, pick up a few jobs there, and then he’ll return. might even dig up enough gil to rent a hotel room for a day or two, if he does well.

he sets off after feeding the chocobos. wiz watches the scene with fond eyes, and he’s kind enough to wave prompto off. prompto remains in high spirits until the hunt begins. he hates this part, or he hates all of it. or he doesn’t particularly mind any of it anymore. he used to play on his father’s phone while he took care of the business. it was fun when he was a kid. as he grew older, he grew anxious. bet the niflheim scientists didn’t expect  _ that _ plot twist.

he takes it with a grain of salt, and continues towards the herd of garula. god, he wishes he didn’t always have to do this alone.

two shots in one’s head; bullet in the eye and bullet in the mouth. it cries out and collapses. it may die slower than prompto would like but it will still die. he can not afford to waste the bullets he needs, and he will go around with a knife later. he is ruthless and he cannot form attachments. he can’t allow it.

bang, bang, part two. shot in the foot to slow it down, shot in the hide to hinder it furthermore. another shot will do it, but then there’s another in the way. a bullet hits its chest, a river of red cascading through the course orange-brown coat. it collapses in the next two minutes.

two down, three to go. one injured, two angry.

he switches weapon. sheathes the small pistol and brings a bigger gun off his back. he moves away slightly, if only to grant himself a little more time and protection. the shotgun in his hand makes it harder to dodge, due to its size and weight difference, but prompto manages all the same.

another shot in the skull. it’s dead. two more shots in the hide. that one is dying too.

the final watches, the decision to attack or retreat one that is being debated in its eyes. it is too late to retreat now, and it knows prompto is a predator and prompto will follow it. it charges. bang, bang, a shot in the heart, and shot in the brain.

there’s meat for dinner tonight, and another four thousand gil in his pockets.  too bad that, out of all the special skills niflheim equipped him with, cooking was not one of them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:   
>  -hints at prompto's ED (& talks of food)  
> -(slight) weight comments

prompto never really was a fan of cramped, dark spaces. yeah, maybe this isn’t the scariest thing he’s been up against, but goddamn, he hates the feeling of not being able to escape, not being able to move as dark eyes watch you, readying themselves for dinner.

he’s in the malamalam thicket. mandrakes aren’t the hardest to kill, but getting hit with their tails hurts. still, a few well-aimed shots work well, but there’s not really enough room to hang back and keep distance, which is what gunners tend to do. before the next fight, he changes to a set of daggers that he recently found embedded in an abandoned house’s wall. he thinks he’ll have to use a sword, later.

he makes his way through the thicket with relative ease, ignoring the prickling sensation that runs down his spine. the sooner he finishes this, the better. there’s fourteen thousand gil for this hunt, he reminds himself, along with some mega phoenixes. that kind of money could change his life for at least a couple of weeks, more if he forces it to last longer. 

there’s a campsite that he rests at, the runes denying the monsters that so desperately stare at him. he starts a fire and pulls out a blanket from his backpack, which had taken up most of the space. also in it, though, was a flask of water and a few pre-prepared meals that he eats as the sun goes down. there’s no cell service in the thicket, so he can’t use his spare time to catch up with cor, or even play a game. he sits and thinks, shivering, before the fire finally starts to dim. he throws a few more logs on it, before rolling over and going to sleep.

he wakes up again when it is still dark, a loud roar breaking the silence. prompto sighs, but starts putting his things away. by now, the fire is barely alive, and he stomps it out. the only thing he leaves is a small pile of firewood that hadn't yet been used. he continues through the thicket, shooting down a few killer bees and narrowly avoiding the shieldshear’s sharp pincers. he climbs up the rock face next to the waterfall, managing to avoid most of the water, but not enough to be considered dry. the final passage, where he assumes the bandersnatch lives, is thin and winding and, at some parts, prompto has to squeeze through. once again, he reminds himself that this kill is why he is here. 

when he emerges, the light - despite it still being dark out - forces him to close his eyes for a few seconds before he adjusts. he looks around. prompto doesn’t describe things as beautiful very often, but this is. though the trees are leafless, just tall sticks now, and the sky is a harsh grey, threatening to rain, everything looks serene. cream and white flowers grow from the floor, and the grass is lush as he walks through it. it’s quite long, due to no one ever really being here to cut it, and it’s not like the bandersnatch is a herbivore.

speaking of the bandersnatch, it seems to be sleeping. it’s curled up in a tight ball, its spikes fitting together like a puzzle piece, in front of a dirty white and grey building. prompto assumes there’s a treasure in there, which makes him even more excited because if there’s one thing he loves, it’s unexpected surprises that offer money, food, or more weaponry. 

the daemon is strong reds and browns, along with sharp teeth and claws that gleam in the light. even its eyes are hidden under all the spikes, so prompto doubts it can even see well. every single part of its body looks uncomfortable to touch. it looks to have horn-like spikes on above where its mouth seems to be, and more points on its lower back that start to resemble wings. though prompto knows it won’t fly, it’s still unsettling. the only thing that he has not mentioned is it’s tail, which resembles the rest of its body. he makes a note to avoid that because a hit from it could cause many, many problems.

for weak points, prompto picks out its underbelly, where no spikes seem to protrude from. if he can knock it down, he’ll be able to bring it down easily.

he steps forward. he can’t take a picture of the beautiful scene when he knows it’s going to be ruined in mere moments. the bandersnatch takes a breath and picks up on something new, something prey-like. its eyes snap open, and it’s standing in seconds. it’s quicker than prompto had given it credit. though he tried not to go in blind, not enough people had seen it and lived to tell the tale, so stories of it were either grossly exaggerated or filled with misinformation. in one telling, he had heard that it didn’t have eyes, and just used its enhanced hearing and smell; prompto is having trouble deciding whether that is a truth or a lie.

it steps forward menacingly, and prompto draws his sword. it’s a light weapon, so he hopes his speed is quicker than the bandersnatch’s. he was told it favoured strength over speed, but two minutes into the fight he finds that’s not the case. he can’t move fast enough to hit its legs, when the tail is already swooping through, trying to clear the way.

he takes refuge behind a rock and starts firing at it, using poison-laced bullets. he fires at its legs at first, but it was moving too quickly for all of the shots to hit, so he targets its face instead. chips of its facial claws — even as prompto thinks it, he wonders whether that’s actually what they’re called — but in doing so, allows the beast to open its mouth even wider. 

the teeth that shine when it roars makes prompto almost feel something like regret. 

“new plan!” he says, and switches to a small bundle that he always carried in his pocket. cor had given it to him once, and said to use it for emergencies. he figures this is perfect.

he unwraps it, for the first time, and sees a small ball, glowing a harsh yellow. it almost burns to touch, so he throws it with haste. when it lands, for a second, it does nothing, before creating a large sphere around the daemon and turning the air into a ball of electric. 

prompto watches with awe and fascination as the beast cries out, before falling to the ground. prompto leaps out, not really thinking about how he’s running into an area filled with electricity, and makes full use of its exposed underbelly. it falls pretty quickly after that, and prompto sits down on the rock he was hiding behind moments before for a break. 

the hair on his hands is standing up more than normal, as is the hair on his head, but nothing hurts so he assumes he’s fine. the sun has completely risen now, after the fight, and prompto takes a moment to appreciate it. in the light, the true vibrancy of the bandersnatch’s colours really shows. they’re a lot brighter than he had thought.

he stands up, stretches again, and turns to head into the building. the inside is the same colour as the exterior. while there was a statuette of someone above the door, who was wearing a long, flowing dress, on the inside, the walls are lined with figures of armoured people, ones who’s weaponry and armour seems delicately crafted, even in statue form. everything about this gives off royal energy, from the colours to the architecture. prompto wouldn’t be surprised if this was some weird kind of tomb, especially since there’s another figure placed in the middle.

it’s a funeral casket, in prompto’s eyes. it’s all stone, minus the weapon that lay between their - it’s? - hands. it is a spectre, long and thin, with pointed edges and a flare so bright when it catches the light right. he reaches out to touch it but draws his hand back just before he can. it feels wrong. if this is royal, as he suspects, it’s not like a commoner, or a dirty hunter, should do whatever they wanted with it.

so he takes a picture of the place so he’ll remember the day he found something both worthwhile and completely useless, and he figures someone else could use the information of where it is. perhaps he could get another bit of gil for it. who knows.

 

* * *

 

when he returns to civilisation, he immediately restocks on potions and eats one of the more expensive meals on the diner’s menu. he figures he deserves it. he picks up a few smaller hunts, and the tipster looks at him anxiously.

“you alright, boy?” she says, and prompto smiles.

“yup! fine and dandy,” he replies. he feels that he’s blushing slightly, having gotten caught zoning out. he nods again, awkwardly. “just, uh, just leaving!” and he leaves, leaving his half-eaten meal on the side. that was  _ expensive _ , too.

on the way back to wiz’s, he picks up a few odd hunts wherever he stops, but none that should leave him drastically out of his schedule. when he arrives, he parks in an empty space of grass and spends his afternoon with the chocobos. wiz is thankful for the help in cleaning them out and giving them washes, and prompto was more than happy to offer his services.

later, once he’s staying in one of the few rooms that there is to offer, he calls cor. the phone is answered on the second ring.

“prompto, are you alright?”

“yes, dad.” he says. “just thought i’d check and see if you were still kicking, is all.”

“very funny, prompto.” cor says, not laughing. “i got back from a hunt an hour or two ago. there’s about to be a meeting at HQ.”

“have fun.”

“i won’t.”

“anyways, i was in malamalam thicket the other day and--”

“prompto. why were you in there?”

“there was a hunt and it paid well.”

“there are more hunts which don’t involve you dying.”

“well, i’m alive and it’s dead so!”

“prompto.” cor’s voice sounds stern, but he knows it’s a mix of guilt and pride. in a strange way, this is how he shows he cares, even if it sounds like scolding.

“i know, i know, i could die at any moment and i should be more careful and think things through but i did!” prompto says. he sounds like a teenager who thinks they’re an adult because they’ve turned fifteen. “i used that electric ball you gave me by the way. very useful, thanks.”

there are a few seconds of silence before cor replies. “well done,” he says, and prompto grins. 

“at the end of it, there was this strange building as well. it looked really old, like some long-lost royal meeting place that someone died in.”

“there was a weapon in the middle? statues along the wall?”

“yup!”

“thank you, prompto. i’ve been looking for them recently.”

“i’ll tell you if i see anymore.” there’s another pause where the only sounds that can be heard are soft breathing and occasional faint exclamations from another hunters’ argument. “what actually are they for?”

“you were right about them being royal.” cor replies. “they have weapons from the past rulers, and the new king will have to collect them to build up his armiger.”

“i have no idea what you’re talking about, at all, but cool!” prompto replies. “wait, new king?”

“yes. king regis is dead.”

prompto hums down the phone. “didn’t you know him well at one point?”

“yes.”

“sucks, dude.” prompto never knows what to say in these situations. grief is a thing that is dealt with alone. still, he figures he should do better than  _ ‘sucks, dude’ _ . “you’re good? need me to come back for a hug.”

“fuck off, kid,” he replies, and prompto can hear the smile now. maybe he did alright. “or-- or ‘go away’. i’m your dad and you didn’t hear me swear.”

“you’re a great influence.”

they fall silent again.

“got to go now. meetings starting.”

“yeah, see you later. think i’ll be up in a week or two, after i fight the behemoth.”

“wait, what?” cor says down the phone, somewhat urgently.

“love you, bye.” prompto hangs up. he drops the phone on his bed, before collapsing on it himself. he’s so ready to shower. being clean feels like a distant dream.

he showers, and treats himself to yet another meal. this time, he finishes this one. he’s not used to eating this much, though, and ends up having a nap so he doesn’t have to feel uncomfortably full. when he reawakens, he realises that his nap had gone on for way longer than twenty minutes, and now it’s the middle of the night. 

he grabs his phone, attaches the water canteen to his belt, and equips the daggers, sword, and guns that he carries. he doesn’t think he’ll be gone long enough to need food, and he takes the risk of not bringing any. 

he steps out of the hotel, having already paid for the next day in full, and finds his car. time to go behemoth hunting, baby!

 

* * *

if there’s one thing prompto has regretted in his short life, it is travelling alone.

it’s not as fun if you don’t have anyone to talk to, or joke with, or even shout at. prompto hasn’t had an argument in years, ever since he’s been let out of cor’s official care, because no one has been around long enough. he shouldn’t miss arguments, but if it meant he had a friend, he’d take them.

and, in a more important need than friendship, he would really like a battle companion, because if these voretooth attempt to bite him again, he swears to the six he’s going to scream. he may have fought terrible things, like nagas and ronin - both, in some an awful event - but there is nothing he hates more than these creatures. they’re like mean dogs; both have teeth, both have tails, but a dog’s eyes aren’t usually filled with hunger and hatred.

he finishes another pack off. there are loose chunks of flesh hanging from his arm until he pours a potion over it. the wound may have disappeared but the stained blood still remains. he knows everything will be able to smell a meal as he passes, but he doesn’t have anything to successfully wipe it off, so he continues and hopes the next bunch aren’t any worse. 

there’s a small gap that prompto has to crawl through, and it leads to an open forest, filled with thick fog. he wouldn’t have a clue where to go, but there are large paw prints in the ground, of which, prompto assumes, belong to the behemoth.

he hears hushed whispers, but they sound more like the echo of the wind. he shrugs it off. the whole place fills him with uncertainty, but, then again, most things do and he’s never died before so he must be doing something right. he sets off, following the trail, keeping as quiet as he can. his rubber boots don’t do much to muffle any sound, so he watches the ground to avoid snapping twigs or kicking rocks, anything that could start the fight earlier than it needs to be.

when he arrives in what he assumes is the layer, he’s greeted with a few surprises.

one: there’s a building here, made of stone. though most of it has crumbled, it still looks like it was once a house - a  _ massive _ giant’s home - or some weird community building. perhaps even a jail; prompto sees bars on where a window would be, after all. 

two: there’s already sounds of a fight, coming from where the behemoth seems to be. prompto sneaks up around the hill, and peers out, cautiously. the behemoth is screeching, it’s grey fur matted with blood around its hind legs and the back of its neck. one tusk is snapped, though prompto doesn’t know if that was a preexisting wound or was broken during this very fight. the behemoth was already nicknamed ‘deadeye’, though, and prompto can see why; its right eye is a dull grey, showing that it is blind, and there’s a faint scar, mostly covered by hair, that surrounds it. 

there’s an occasional flash of blue, with a lingering silhouette; a sound of a dagger hitting it’s target to a weird sort of beat; a large smash of metal against the ground, or metal slicing flesh, always accompanied by yet another growl. 

then, there’s a flash of fire, the flames rising high. the team seems to take a step back, though they’re still shielded by the behemoth, and prompto peers out to see what had happened. he can’t see where the fire would have come from, but he embraces that magic exists and sometimes, flames just appear. 

only does this become a problem for him when the behemoth decides it has had enough of burning and starts running towards the place where prompto is hiding. he scrambles up, quickly climbing another hill and pressing his back against a tree, his pistol loaded in his hand.

it seems to know there’s someone there but doesn’t immediately try and take him on. he suspects that it wants to get rid of its three attackers first. behemoths were known for their strength, but also their intelligence. while it isn’t the smartest of enemies, it can analyse enough of its surroundings to make a guess of its best chance to win. 

it moves away from prompto’s tree, deciding to let out another roar that nearly makes prompto drop his gun and cover his ears, before leaping back into the fight. he peers out immediately, and the flames have all died down. there are the sounds of weapons moving and occasional yell from hunter to hunter, but the rest of the forest is silent. 

he doesn’t know when he grows the courage but he lifts his gun, aiming it at one of its pre-existing wounds. while the bullet may not pierce flesh this strong, it should add some icing to the cake that is the bleeding gape on its neck. 

prompto doesn’t like fighting with other people, he thinks. there’s the risk of them moving in front of the bullet, especially if one can move around the field with the toss of their sword. prompto is envious but also angry, because this is the third time he’s nearly fired a shot that would have killed a man. 

it’s okay, though. he takes the extra time to switch to his rifle. he figured this would be more effective than a shotgun, today, so he lingers at the fight, hiding from a distance. 

only when the behemoth is on its deathbed and it stands on its hind legs to slam itself into the ground, a final attempt to crush its attackers, does he take the shot. the rifle has five shots loaded, and all of them are pumped into the thing’s chest. it slumps to the ground afterwards, cutting itself off, mid-cry.

prompto, absentmindedly, wonders whether he can even get in on the bounty if someone else did all the work.

then, there are three people in his face, each wearing a different expression.

the one closest to him has black hair. they’re wearing black clothes. they’re quite pale, but not as pale as prompto. they look confused, maybe a little annoyed that the kill was stolen from them, but mainly, they look like they’re wondering why prompto is here. why some weird blond kid suddenly appeared and shot something.

the person on the right is hanging back a little more, but they’re the next one prompto sees. they’re tall, probably the tallest of the group, and they’re wearing a brown tank top. on their shoulders lies a tattoo that looks to stretch across their back. prompto can’t quite make out what it is, but he’s certain it’s beautiful. they look angrier than everyone else, but they don’t seem violent about it. prompto doubts he’ll get beaten up in a forest where no one will ever find him, so he breathes again.

the last one, on the left, is just watching him. they have lighter hair than the rest of the group, and they wear glasses. they look neither happy nor sad, and certainly not angry. there is an analytical gleam in their eye, and they are the one to offer him a hand to pull him off the ground.

they pull with more force than necessary, though, and prompto stumbles slightly when he stands.

“my apologies.” they say. “i overestimated your weight.”

wow, prompto thinks. what a nice thing to say to someone you just met. he shrugs it off, though; doesn’t have time to linger on comments such as that. 

“i’m prompto,” he replies, because what else can he say. 

“i’m ignis.” ignis replies. prompto takes a step back. “that’s noctis-” he points to one of his friends- “and that’s gladio-” he points to the other, who steps forward.

“nice to meet you,” prompto says, but no one else smiles.

“what were you doing here?” noctis asks. there’s a hint of fear to his tone, which is surprising. prompto doesn’t think he looks that scary.

“i was here for the behemoth.”

“you?” gladio says and snorts. “and you’re alone?”

“yes.” prompto says. it has little force behind it, and gladio blinks at him, before laughing again. it is clear that he doesn’t believe prompto, but won’t further call him out on it.

“what were you going to do? just shoot at it?” noctis says, and this is where prompto realises that this is almost a test, an evaluation of his skills.

“i’d do whatever,” he laughs. “the chocobos are on the line.” he jokes because he doesn’t really want to tell them that there’s a knife dancing between his fingers right now, in case things go wrong. he figures he can outrun them, especially if he manages to injure one of them first.

gladio huffs another laugh. ignis continues watching him. noctis frowns.

“look, i get you’re mad i stole your kill. there was an opening, and if it went out with its attack, you guys could still have been hurt-” gladio goes to say something, but prompto continues- “yeah, whatever, you’re trained fighters or something, but it was still about to crush you.”

“that’s alright.” ignis says. he’s made his mind up about something. “how much money do you have?”

“i’m not going to die if you don’t give me any.” prompto says, laughing, even though he  _ really _ wanted that cash prize because he knows that his car is on its last legs — wheels? — and desperately needs refurbishing. “i mean, yeah, i spent a few thousand gil preparing but got more, right?”

everyone looks at him strangely. 

he slips the knife up his sleeve before starting to walk away. “maybe i’ll see you guys around, or something.” and then he goes, walks back up the steps and through that small passageway where he had to climb on his knees. he doesn’t look back once, and the voretooth that watch from the bushes just keep doing that: watching. 

**Author's Note:**

> pinterest: [ignis](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/hokseok/ignis-stupeo-scientia-ffxv/) | [prompto](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/hokseok/prompto-argentum-ffxv/)
> 
> youtube (music playlists): [ffxv](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL_rSVvI_mwOzblAt0IjaLoTNJNZ07ZIZu)


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